The Story of An Outcast
by Megana
Summary: Fidget the Bat is not quite what he seems to be...


Disclaimer: Fidget and Ratigan are property of Disney and may not be used without permission. Ratigan is also the property of Eve Titus. Everyone else is mine.  
  
This is a response to Cybra's "gender bender" idea. This is what I came up with. Bear with me; it's the first time I've ever attempted to express the thoughts of a henchman.

* * *

_I wasn't always this way.  
  
Let me start at the beginning..._  
  
My father was a seafaring man. He was rarely at home, but when he was, I knew well enough to stay out of his way. He was an alcoholic and abusive. He used to hit my mother in fits of rage.  
  
I had three older brothers that looked after me when my mother went to her job as a cook each day. Our gang of ragged street arabs consisted of about a dozen ragtag children from the slums. I was the only girl. Many times the other boys would get frustrated with my brothers for bringing me along, but they defended me as best as they could.  
  
At first our gang just roamed the streets, making fun of the socialites of London, breaking windows, and generally just being nuisances. But later some of the boys became rather skilled at picking pockets. At first I just watched on. But one day my oldest brother saw the advantage of an adorable little girl as a distraction.  
  
By the time I was twelve I was a flawless pickpocket. I was a tomboy; I dressed like a boy, and would fight anyone who dared treated me like a stupid little girl.  
  
But one day, something happened that changed my life forever...  
  
One day my brother Fred was searching for something in the trash cans in an alley. He had to watch me because my two older brothers were watching a fight. I was just moseying around the alley, kicking a pebble, when I saw it.  
  
_A cat.  
_  
I froze. It licked its lips. I slowly called out, "Fred..."  
  
The cat was on me in an instant.  
  
I heard cries of "Fan! Fan!" The cat had pinned me with its paw. I bit it with my fangs. It hissed and released me. I got up as quickly as I could and darted away.  
  
With one swift swipe of its paw it slammed me into the wall of the building to my left. I blacked out.  
  
I woke up to excruciating pain. I was in my bed at home. My mother was weeping in the corner.  
  
"Mm...mm..." I croaked.  
  
She looked up, tears in her eyes. "Oh Fan!" she said in a high- pitched whisper. "My poor Fan."  
  
I tried to speak again, but I could only grunt unintelligible noises to her. Finally I gave up and went back to sleep.  
  
I do not remember how long it was until I could speak. The pain wracked every inch of my body except for my right leg. It was a hell of a lot of pain at my right knee, but after that the pain stopped.  
  
One day I finally had enough strength to talk. "Ma... ma... mama?" I rasped as she came into the room. She dropped her tray of food in shock.  
  
"Fan! You can talk!"  
  
"Yeargh." I had meant to say 'yeah,' but it did not come out right. My mother burst into tears. "Wha... wha... rung?" I had tried to say 'What's wrong?' but she started to cry even harder.  
  
"My poor Fan," she sobbed. She ran out of the room.  
  
In a few minutes my brother Fred came into the room. "Hiya Fan," he said quietly.  
  
"Fred? Wha 'appen?"  
  
He looked at me sadly. He showed me a hole in his wing. "That's where one of that damn cat's paws impaled me. But 'e got you pretty bad."  
  
"'Ow?"  
  
He sighed. "Your left wing's crippled. Par of your ear was taken out. And your right leg..." he stopped. Fred had always been my favorite brother. He had always protected me. I think that he was upset that he had failed to this time.  
  
"It 'kay," I grunted. My voice was so strange. It was raspy and deep, like a male's. Actually, it sounded more like a voice of a demon or possessed thing, but I assumed that it would get better in a few weeks.  
  
Fred sighed again. "Get some rest."  
  
I did not discover what had happened to my right leg until that evening, when the doctor came to check on me. He lifted back the blankets. The reason that I had felt no pain past my right knee was because there was no longer a right leg there to feel pain.  
  
I stared at the stump of my leg in absolute horror. The doctor tried to smile. "By all rights you should have died. You're lucky that that feline only took your leg." Well, I sure did not feel lucky.  
  
I was told that my vocal cords had been damaged beyond repair, which meant that I would talk in the demon-like voice for the rest of my life. Besides that, I was told that my wing was so badly damaged that I would never fly again. But I did not cry over any of this. I guess I really did not care.  
  
I think the attack impaired my thinking ability for a while. Well, it must have done something to my nerves anyway. When I was recovering, my good leg or even my whole body would start to jerk uncontrollably. These spontaneous spasms would be with me all of my life.  
  
With the help of Fred, who had made me a peg leg so I could walk, I slowly began to live again. The peg leg did help me to walk, but it was more of a crawling limp than anything. At first I wore dresses to hide the peg, but its heavy thump attracted attention in the streets, and fellow rodents would point and whisper. Finally I became so self-conscious of it that I dressed in my brother's clothes and passed off as a boy. People stopped talking then. It was not abnormal for a male who lived near the docks to have a scratchy voice or some limb missing.  
  
By the time I was nineteen my mother had died. My two oldest brothers had sailed away to America. Fred had stayed with me, still watching over me, until he was shot and killed in a gunfight at a pub. My father had not been heard from in five years anyway.  
  
With no way to support myself, I took to the street corners, begging money from passersby. Most of the rich, fortunate mice denounced me as a freak and a demon because of my haggard appearance and my throaty voice. Little boys threw rotten vegetables at me.  
  
My muscle spasms also convinced many that I was cursed. During these spasms the little boys would yell, "Why can't you stop fidgeting, freak?" I became bitter and lonely, and took to drinking.  
  
All that knew me as Fan Hendrick had either died or had gone away. All assumed that I was just another ragtag bum from the streets. I always dressed as a male. It was an easier way to gain respect. And I did not care. It was my only source of freedom, like I was an actor in a play.  
  
Eventually I turned back to pick pocketing. My disabilities in my wing and my right leg had impaired me somewhat, but I had learned to make up for my disabilities in my other limbs. I was the fastest creature with one leg that anyone in London knew. Unfortunately, because of my appearance, it was much easier for me to be identified and caught. I have been in jail many times because of this.  
  
I finally gave up pick pocketing and turned to robbery instead. My ordeal with the cat had stunted my growth, so I was not as big as other female bats. This made it all the easier to fit through tight windows, or occasionally crawl down a chimney. But I am naturally clumsy, which usually ends up in me making narrow escapes. But I escape all the same.  
  
One night I was looting a fancy hotel room when I heard its occupant return early. Being in a large suite, I knew that I had at least a few places to hide quickly before I made my escape. I used my one good wing to flap up to the rungs that held the window curtains in place and perched there, upside down.  
  
I heard footsteps around the room. I giggled softly to myself, thinking of the shocked expression on the mouse's face when he saw that his fancy cufflinks, jewelry, wallet, and cigarettes were gone.  
  
I heard the footsteps stop. "Hmm." I was confused. Normally someone would have been calling for the police by now. Then I wondered if, in fact, this person was a thief like me, and I had just done what he himself had been planning to do. The thought was so funny that I began to giggle again.  
  
The footsteps moved again. I stopped laughing and held my breath, my eyes widening.  
  
Something hard hit me. I yelped in my throaty voice and let go of my hold on the rung, tumbling to the ground. All of the loot in my pockets spilled out, revealing my crime. "Well, well, what do we have here?" a suave voice laughed. "A little thief!"  
  
"Owww." I rubbed my head. Then I looked up at my attacker. He was wearing fancy evening clothes, and held a cane in his hand. He twirled it as he grinned broadly at me. He had what they called a 5 o'clock shadow. Then I realized that this was no mouse. It was a rat. I had known few rats in my life. They were a species that were commonly discriminated against for their criminal tendencies. Even the criminals I knew steered clear of them.  
  
But all of this did not concern me at that moment. All I wanted to do was to get out of there. I jumped up with the intention of flying out the window, pushing the rat down, SOMETHING. The rat calmly pulled a gun from his coat. "Do stay awhile longer," he said nonchalantly.  
  
"Uh... ah... eh..." I stammered, aware that I was starting to fidget. "Uh... I... eh... heh... let me g-go, I... I didn't do it."  
  
The rat seemed amused. "Then explain to me why my best cigarettes were in your pockets. "Eh..." I then started to laugh. Because of my voice, it was a stuttering, dark laugh, a laugh that had caused many to call me a devil.  
  
The rat laughed, but his eyes glinted darkly at me. "What is your name?" "Ah..." my spasm ended. "Fidget," I said. It was a name I had fashioned for myself from my days as a beggar. Mouseland Yard knew me as Fidget, the slums and the pubs knew me as Fidget, everyone knew me as Fidget.  
  
He picked up the golden cigarette case from the floor and busied himself with lighting a cigarette. I took this opportunity to make a mad dash for the door. I burst out of the room and flew (not literally) down the stairs, pushing past baffled mice. I did not sop running until I had made it to the East India Docks.  
  
I breathed heavily, letting out a nervous laugh every one in a while. The rat had not attempted to follow me. I sat on a crate, and taking out a cigarette, lit it. After a few puffs I was calm. I tossed it away and stretched out on the crate, closing my eyes.  
  
"Fidget, Fidget," a familiar voice said. "Did you really think I wouldn't be able to follow you?"  
  
I opened my eyes. The rat was standing over me. I yelped. That rat pinned my good wing down with his cane, shaking his head.  
  
"I've heard about you," he continued. "A little thief who barely makes enough to get by. But you're fast, and have enough intelligence and common sense."  
  
I did not know whether or not to be insulted by the 'enough intelligence and common sense' part. But the rat's next words made me forget about the insult.  
  
"I have a proposition to make to you, Fidget."  
  
"Yeah? Like what, sending me back to the stupid Yardies?" I grumbled.  
  
"Not unless you cooperate, my dear fellow," he said, grinning again.  
  
"Go 'way," I said. I was very distrustful of almost everyone. But he did not bother to take his stupid cane off of my wing.  
  
"I can offer you comforts and riches, riches beyond your wildest dreams. All I need is a little help from you."  
  
I was immediately interested. "Riches? My help?" I started to laugh again. He waited patiently until I had calmed down. "What... what kind of help?"  
  
"Come with me." He released me and started off, along the docks. I followed.  
  
He led me into a pub called The Rat Trap. Some pretty girls were dancing onstage. I stared at them for a second, regretting for an instant that I could not be a normal female, but continued to follow the rat. We went through the sewers to a barrel, where a marble-floored room of some sort greeted my eyes. But it was completely empty.  
  
"Fidget, here are the beginnings of my hideout for the loot I plan to have. It will also hold the greatest criminal organization of all time."  
  
He was getting very excited now. "This is how it will work: I will plan out all of the crimes we are to commit, where the crime is to be, what to do, and how to escape. All you boys have to do is to follow my plans."  
  
I opened my mouth in surprise. "That's it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And what do we get?"  
  
"A share of what you take, of course."  
  
"I'm in," I said without hesitation.  
  
That was how I became the henchman of Professor Ratigan. I have been with him ever since. He's a hard man to work for, but I can handle it. He has threatened many times to throw me to his cat, but I can always somehow get myself out of it. I remember to never call him a rat. It's a matter of survival.  
  
I don't think he knows that I am a woman. If he does, he probably doesn't care. But none of the other guys know that I'm sure of.  
  
When Ratigan rules Mousedom, maybe then I can get a better leg or even get my wing fixed. But for now I'll wait. Maybe later I won't be an outcast to females, to society, to my own species. Maybe then I will find Fan Hendrick once again.  
  
_Maybe then...._

* * *

I should have explained this when I first wrote the story: Ratigan, at least in my mind, knows that Fidget is a female. He's way too smart not to figure that out. But what does he care whether Fidget is a girl or not? It makes no difference to him (again, at least in my mind.)


End file.
